


A Single Day

by Beatriceorme



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatriceorme/pseuds/Beatriceorme





	1. If Wishes Were Horses...

 

**“If wishes were horses…”**  
  
  
  
“Mine…mine. Fuckin’ mine!”  
  
The words ground into the nape of Jack’s neck as hard and unrelenting as the hand that worked his cock.  
  
“You’re mine!”  
  
His naked body – a willing captive of the steel limbs wrapped around from behind, holding him trapped and safe – thrust out blindly, guided only by lust, slipping through Ennis’ fist and ever closer to completion.  
  
“Say it, Jack. Wanta’ hear ya say it. Need t’ hear it. Right from your sweet mouth.”  
  
Fire rained down, a tongue trail blazed from ear to shoulder, a scorching mark on skin already rubbed raw by three day stubble, but soothed now with the gentle press of lips. Sweat dribbled down from where a palm pressed against his heaving chest - Ennis’ hand holding Jack’s heart – darkening the floor, canvas sticky and slick.  
  
“Say it, Jack! Goddammit! Say the words!”  
  
Jack’s muscles shook, trembling uncontrollable, trying to contain, grab, hold back the inevitable explosion, trying to keep this precious moment alive, this moment where the world stopped moving forward and Ennis was his alone.  
  
“Mine, Jack, you’re mine forever. Fuckin’ tell me - ya know - the truth a things.”  
  
The command to acknowledge ownership whispered dark and unimpeachable next to Jack’s ear, ricocheting from head to heart to soul, fulfilling the missing piece of a wish spoken silently to the stars over a month ago.  
  
“Jack! Jack fuckin’ Twist!”  
  
Jack released his grip on the now, the need to keep it close no longer important, and followed Ennis and his pumping fist into the unfurling promise of always.  
  
“Yes, Ennis! Fuckin’ YES!”  
  
“Yes,  _what_ , Jack? Yes, you’re gonna stay in that fuckin’ tent all damn day or, yes, your scrawny ass is gettin’ out here t’ make breakfast?”  
  
_Oh, shit._  
  
Either Ennis showed up early for breakfast or Jack was running late getting things started. Didn’t really matter who blame decided to kick in the ass this morning, it still left one standing outside angry as a smashed hornet’s nest, stomach grumbling to be filled, and the other inside the tent frustrated, strangling his cock just this side of spurting.  
  
“Jack, I – fuck. If’n you’re not comin’ out…”  
  
“Oh, shit!”  
  
He had just enough time to roll over and yank the blanket over his exposed and rock hard privates before the tent flaps shoved open and Ennis’ scowl appeared, back-lit by the rising dawn.  
  
“Where’s breakfast?”  
  
“Good mornin’ t’ you, too, Ennis.” Moving as little as possible, Jack tried to stuff his hard-on back into his jeans, careful not to zip up anything important.  
  
“Woulda’ been a good mornin’ if’n I had somethin’ ‘cept cold beans n’ empty air t’ eat, and - what in the hell are you doin’?”  
  
With a handful of balls pulled in tight, Jack stopped squirming. “Ain’t doin’ nothin’.”  
  
Ennis gave a dubious snort. “Too much t’ ask then t’ have a fire goin’ at least by the time I -”  
  
Irritation made Jack forget who was sitting on the wrong side of this argument. “Got sick, kay? Spent half the night sharin’ my fine cookin’ with the trees.” The lie rolled off of his tongue like honey. “Didn’t get much sleep, but, don’t worry, Ennis, I’ll be out in a second t’ start your fuckin’ breakfast.”  
  
“You alright?” Ennis whispered, what sounded like genuine concern peppering his few words.  
  
“Fine, just fuckin’ great.”  
  
He could hear Ennis breathing – a couple of short intakes, then one long and slow, a decision reached in the exhale. “Don’t bother with breakfast. I’ll make my own. You just… uh, come on out when you’re ready.”  
  
The tent flaps flapped back together.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Jack flopped on his back grateful that, although his cock hurt something fierce being denied like that, at least he wouldn’t be wearing the damning evidence of his dirty dream all up the front of his jeans and shirt again.  
  
_Was fuckin’ embarrassin’ explainin’ that one away. A waste a good whiskey, that’s for damn sure._  
  
This made three nights now, three nights in a row that Ennis had sneaked in while he slept, bringing mouth and hands and huge cock to bother and tease Jack into jerking off more up here on Brokeback than that winter he discovered what the equipment hanging between his legs was really for, him always waking up covered in spunk only to remember that dreaming was the only way that the real Ennis would ever come to – or for - him.  
  
_Nearly rubbed the damn thing right off. Wonder I can even piss anymore._  
  
Outside, Ennis went about his business – gathering breakfast fixings, rattling pots and pans, cursing beans on general principle, the same snatch of not-quite-a-melody hummed in between.  
  
“Doin’ OK in there, friend?”  
  
_Friend. That’s it, n’ all I’ll ever be t’ him. Friend._  
  
He figured he should hang his hat on that and be content with it. Should be puffed up with pride that Ennis had even taken to him considering the way they were - that fire and water don’t usually hold council together. And every night when the moon climbed to the top of the sky, the beans, whiskey and shit-shooting had played out for the evening, when he stood there beside a fire, its drowsy warmth fading, and watched Cigar Butt’s ass disappear into the pines, Jack hit the sack tired and eternally grateful that shithead Aguirre had actually,  _finally_ , done right by him yoking the two of them together for the summer and handing Jack a best friend.  
  
_He don’t never stay just a friend, though._  
  
In those lonely, dark hours before the sun reclaims its rightful place above, and a mind walks where it wants to, Jack always went looking for Ennis. And that Ennis, the one he created from shadow and longing, weren’t no friend.  _His_  Ennis had warm arms holding on tight, a mouth cut out to fit perfect, hands that knew right where they needed to roam.  _He_ smiled and laughed, whispering those sweet words that Jack so desperately yearned to hear. That Ennis, the one who wanted Jack, cherished and desired him, made the nights in camp alone when sheep and distance schemed to keep them apart heaven. Living with the real Ennis, the man who wore his tightlipped ways as some kind of badge of honor and seemed sometimes a hundred miles away even when he was just sitting across supper, was hell. And that living had Jack worn down to nothing knowing he would never have the opportunity to introduce one to the other.  
  
_God, if’n he knew, if’n he ever found out ‘bout what I’m thinkin’ n’ dreamin’, he’d no doubt kill me dead. Or worse. Ride off a Brokeback n’ never look back._  
  
So, Jack had to make certain that Ennis would never learn all those places they went together when eyes closed at night. And he had been careful. Even on those lazy afternoons when he crept up the mountain, the high grass guarding the intrusion and the bleating sheep covering his low moans as he watched, stroking smooth and slow, following the rhythm of Cigar Butt’s stride and imaging Ennis’ strong thighs riding him just the same.  
  
Jack had been very careful not to share anything about his nasty wishing.  
  
“Coffee’s ready, if’n you’re thinkin’ ‘bout comin’ out here some time t’day.”  
  
_Up until this mornin’, that is._  
  
He peeked under the blanket, a throaty groan rumbling deep. So near the end he could taste electric sparkles on his tongue.   
  
_So close, so fuckin’ close!_  
  
“Jack! Not bringin’ it t’ ya, like some damn waiter!”   
  
He quickly uncoiled his fingers, cursing himself stupid for making things go from bad to worse. He needed to get out of the tent, rise and shine, or Ennis would just come barreling in again demanding either action or answers, and adding another lie to the already heavy load of deceit he toted around all day would do nothing to help a day doomed rotten from the beginning. Rolling over mostly onto his stomach, Jack sought pressure for his aching crotch, and tried to conjure up pictures of anything that would help calm things down a bit.  
  
_Dog shittin’…sheep shittin’…Joe Fuckin’ Aguirre shittin’…fuck! Somethin’ else, somethin’ even worse than that big, white ass strainin’ to drop one._  
  
Nothing helped, though. Not even Aunt Maureen running out across the fields back of the house in Lightning Flat naked as the day is long, old lady titties waving in the breeze, brought relief. Ennis was too close - Jack could hear him, sense him and that sent the heat right back down joining in the fun.  
  
_Gonna haveta’ take care a this as soon as he rides out for the woolies. Fuck. Ain’t this a bitch of a situation? Pecker screamin’ for attention on account a Ennis, but I can’t attend t’ the problem until he leaves n’ he is all I’ll be thinkin’ on while I’m wringin’ it out._  
  
He would have laughed if the whole thing wasn’t so pathetic.  
  
“Jack Fuckin’ Twist!”  
  
“I’m comin’, Ennis Goddamn Del Mar! Just hold your fuckin’ horses!”  
  
Can’t get rid of the problem, do the next best thing. Jack pulled out his shirt tails, covering the evidence.   
  
“Bout damn time,” Ennis growled and shoved a cup into Jack’s hand even before he cleared the tent flaps. “Can’t wait for you out here all day, ya know.”  
  
The idea that Ennis would  _want_  to wait for him fluttered around inside, finally finding a resting place somewhere to the right of his heart. “Thanks. You didn’t need t’ do this.”  
  
“You’re fuckin’ right ‘bout that, bud, seein’ as how that’s your job up here n’ all since ya bitched ‘bout everythin’ ‘til I switched with you.”  
  
The quirky ‘I’m just shittin’ ya, Jack’ smile, so seldom around that Jack considered each one a rare gift, tugged at the corners of Ennis’ mouth, softening his whole face. “But, I really don’t mind doin’ it just this once.”  
  
“Guess this means I owe ya one.”  
  
“More n’ one, Jack, I’m thinkin’.” The devil put in an appearance within that smile, shinning mischief in his eyes. “Gonna be thinkin’ all day on how I aim t’ collect, too.”  
  
Jack’s cock immediately came up with a few interesting ways. Jacket got tugged around in front quickly.  _Damn crazy if’n you’re thinkin’ he means any your dreamin’ shit. A cold fuckin’ day in hell when Ennis ever thinks on that._  
  
“Well, best be getting’ up there.” What was left of the thick, black liquid in his cup splatted to the ground. “I ain’t had much breakfast, but that don’t mean the coyotes won’t be lookin’ for one.”   
  
The brim of his black hat helped to hide a shameful blush. “Could fix ya somethin’ quick.”  
  
“Nah, these’ll do.” He shoved several of last night’s biscuits in the pocket of his canvas jacket. “Just means that supper t’night better be fuckin’ huge.” With a grace born out of innate skill, Ennis swung up, settling down on Cigar Butt, immediately comfortable in the saddle. He hesitated, though, staying there in camp, the reins twisting in his hands. “Uh, Jack? You…gonna be…I mean seein’ as how last night you…and today, are you…?”  
  
Jack prettied up his lie with as much truth as it would hold. “Ain’t got nothin’ left in there t’ puke out, Ennis. Don’t worry ‘bout me. Right as rain now.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Ennis squinted up at the woolies spread across the green blanket on the mountain side, his glance straying higher to the weak gray clouds gathering up steam to the north. “Thinkin’ there might be a storm comin’ this a way.” Cigar Butt danced sideways, eager to stretch his legs before the sun chased away the morning mist. “Prob’ly colder than a well digger’s ass tonight.”  
  
“Be needin’ plenty a wood, then.” If Jack didn’t know any better, he could swear Ennis was stalling for time, trying to find something to keep him here in camp, here with him.  _Bullshit, Twist. This is Ennis Del Mar you’re talkin’ ‘bout. Stop listenin’ t’ your pecker for once!_  “I’ll get right on that.”  
  
“Might just haveta’ come down early.” Two clicks of tongue on teeth, a gentle heel nudge, and Ennis let his mount know he was ready to go to work. “T’ help with the wood n’ all.”  
  
Before the pine branches disturbed by Ennis’ passing settled back down quiet, the tent canvas muffled Jack’s keening wail.   
  
_Ennis n' his smile…n' Ennis n' his eyes…n' Ennis n' his hands…n' Ennis his arms…Ennis his chest…Ennis his thighs…Ennis mouth…Ennis tongue…Ennis cock…Ennis…Ennis…Ennis…EnnisEnnisEnnis…_  
  
Jack near bent in half, not caring what went where, riding and bucking his dream to paradise.  
  
“Oh, holy fuckin’ Jesus!  _Ennis_!”  
  
A match sparked, scratched along the underside of his buckle.  _Sizzle, pop!_  Flame to tobacco, the orange glow a single bright spot in the cozy dimness. Wasn’t supposed to in the tent, but Jack just blew out another of Aguirre’s rules with the smoke. His body’s satisfaction met the fuzzy in his head, everything coiling somewhere near the middle, and Jack relaxed back to the bedroll, savoring the blurry feeling seeping into his bones.  
  
_Only one way this could be any sweeter._  
  
He should be getting up, moving. Plenty to do around camp before the sun stopped smiling. He surely didn’t want to be running around like a headless chicken come suppertime, especially since Ennis was coming in early. Whether it was to see to the chopping, or on account of the storm blowing in, or some other reason that didn’t have a name pinned on it just yet, Jack wasn’t about to be spending time cooking and cleaning when Ennis was there, ready to pass the whiskey.  
  
_Now that I think on it, though, ‘nother smoke would be down right pleasant._  
  
A bitter wind weaseled its way in around the flaps, chasing away the curling haze from his cigarette, cold against his wet skin, a slap in the ass from up the mountain.   
  
_Colder n’ hell tonight. Bet with no fire, you_  could  _freeze your ass off out there. Tent’s the place t’ be, for sure. A course, it’d be a whole hell of a lot warmer in here with two…_  
  
Jack didn’t get to the camp chores for about another twenty minutes or so.  
  
  



	2. ...Beggars Would Ride

 

**“…Beggars Would Ride”**  
  
  
  
The crack of the rifle echoed, sharp and unforgiving, through the crisp mountain air, just like Ennis’ shouted curse of “Fuck!” when the coyote sprinted away unharmed.  
  
“Goddammit t’ hell!”  
  
He never missed a shot that easy, coyote standing right there in the open sending a challenge to one and all to just try and knock the king off his hill. Ennis could swear he heard the damn thing laughing as it trotted away.   
  
“Shit!”  
  
What made that miss worse – it was the second time today he’d had that sheep killer in his sights and both times the shot went wild. Once was embarrassing enough, not to mention a waste of good ammo. He could almost see Aguirre’s fat face going red as he bitched holy hell about the extra cost and good for nothin’ ranch stiffs fritterin’ away his money by takin’ pot shots at the breeze.  
  
_But, twicet? Bad as Jack now, who couldn’t hit his own damn foot on a clear day._  
  
He glanced down the mountain to watch smoke rising in lazy fingers, like a hand waving hello.  
  
_Probably at the choppin’ right ‘bout now._  
  
That’s how he usually passed a long day with the woolies - comparing what he was doing up here with what Jack  _should_  be doing down there. Him checking for coyotes while Jack cleaned up from breakfast. Him chasing runaways while Jack cursed out the can opener. Him smoking while Jack fouled the air with that damn harmonica. Just a silly little bit of nothing that he’d grown used to since switching. Almost like sharing their day though miles of mountain stretched between them.   
  
Not that he minded being alone; spent most of his life so far that way. Not that it made much sense, either, since he always found out at supper every tiny detail of what had happened in camp, Jack going on about his day, beans moving into whiskey, hardly taking a breath in between. Ennis would just sit there nodding, wondering at all those words and the strange way Jack had in making even the boring shit seem interesting.  
  
_Heard it all over many times. Ain’t no mysteries left ‘about Jack’s days. And now none ‘bout his nights, neither._  
  
Plopping down where he could still keep a watchful eye on the woolies, the so far useless rifle by his side, Ennis fished out a dry biscuit, grumbling about all the crumbs it left in his pocket and the cause for them being there.  
  
“Sick, my ass.”  
  
Only stood there for a few seconds. Just waiting. For what he didn’t quite know or even want to know. Just waiting…and listening, his stomach grumbling so loud it’s a wonder folks all the way down in Signal didn’t hear and turn their heads in amazement.  
  
_Jack sure as hell didn’t hear nothin’. Too busy doin’ somethin’ else._  
  
He knew what was going on in there. Knew exactly what Jack was up to in that tent. He recognized those sounds – the choked moan, the slap of a sticky hand. Knew ‘cause he’d done the very same thing himself last night. And the night before that. So many nights his tiny tent didn’t smell like cat piss no more, but something more primal and dirty.  
  
_So many damn times, it’s a wonder I can piss anymore._  
  
Wasn’t memories of Alma, all softness and curves and silent sighs, with her tightly pressed good girl lips, her daddy peeking out from the front window curtains, that Ennis thought on when cold and fatigue and lonely drove him under his one blanket at night. Wasn’t thoughts on the only other woman he knew – except his sister and his mama and they sure didn’t count for this – the one from the bank that took their home, the one with perfume hanging so thick it could stamp out the stink of cow shit and tits so big a man could smother to death if he tripped and fell face first into ‘em. Wasn’t even all those stories that K.E. had whispered in the dark, talking of touching and kissing and licking things that nine year old Ennis didn’t even know existed. Wasn’t nothing normal he concentrated on while wringing it out that sent him from soft to hard to shooting to the canvas in seconds flat. Wasn’t nothing he wanted to admit in the light of day.   
  
It was the color blue.  
  
Didn’t let his mind set too long on that. Might lead him somewhere, and to someone. So he kept it all simple, safe, the secret living only under the cover of canvas and the diamond filled night. There were those times when the idea did creep up on him unawares, however, when he took a moment to look up at the Wyoming sky shouting glory all around, the blue nearly swallowing him whole, and his mouth dried up and his palms slicked with sweat. When there was no dark to hide his nasty desires, Ennis would just grip Cigar Butt tight between his thighs, riding hard and fast, the rhythm and power beneath him a piss poor substitute for what he was really yearning for.  
  
_Riding so much this morning my ass’s sore as hell._  
  
And all because of what he’d had no business in hearing.  
  
_My name. He said_   **my**   _name._  
  
Didn’t remember making no coffee, much less drinking any. Wasn’t until later, on the ride up, him needing to piss so bad ‘bout to bust, everything in camp came back to him. Sure was glad to be alone right then, ‘cause with those sounds –  _“Ennis….Ennis… Ennis!”_  moaning low from Jack’s sweet lips – singing loud in his head, he took what was already in hand and, three strokes later, wet that pine tree a second time.  
  
_Only a one shot deal, out in the open like that._  
  
Around noon, it come on him quick again though, those morning memories thrilling down his belly, starting a fire that was like to burn him to ashes from the inside out. Even his balls pounding fierce against the saddle’s stiff leather, thighs straining to hold it all in, didn’t help none. Only one way to stop the throbbing.   
  
_Shit. Just me n’ the coyotes out there rollin’ ‘round n’ hidin’ in the grass._  
  
Ennis lay, eyes wide open to the canopy above, swimming in blue and listened to Jack whisper his name. Conjured up rough hands, slick tongue and warm skin pressing him down, too. The fantasy so real, as the blue hanging above, it bent him near in half, ass up off the ground, fingers cramping, tearing a scream of pleasure out of him loud enough to scare the dogs.  
  
_Like t’ died._  
  
Took a couple of smokes after that before he could breathe regular, move or even contemplate standing and walking. Took so long for him to come back to earth, leaving his pretending, and Jack, behind, he had to spend the next two hours in the saddle, chasing down woolies too stupid to know their ass from a hole in the ground when they had strayed too far.  
  
_Kept me busy leastwise. Kept me from thinkin’ on the truth._  
  
Didn’t like this new thing he’d discovered much, this needing, all squirmy inside of him. Sure as hell didn’t want to look there, ‘fraid what he’d see burrowing deep, like a bear planning on winter’s long nap, down where he would never be able to dig him out, even if he was forced to. So, he didn’t think on it then, just rode Cigar Butt’s motion, smoked one after the other, and tried to let work fill his mind, riding round and round until he had only one bent and crumpled smoke left and the dogs was wore out.  
  
_Ain’t right thinkin’ this way ‘bout Jack._  
  
They weren’t no queers. Alma, with her tits and pussy, was waiting for him after Brokeback. They’d get hitched in December, fuck like rabbits – kids popping out every which-a-way – and he’d find work on a ranch somewheres and provide a good home for them all just like a normal, real man was supposed to.  
  
_And Jack, well, he prob’ly has to fight the girls off with a stick. One look at those eyes a his and…_  
  
A bite to the inside of his cheek stopped that train from running wild again.  
  
_One thing’s for damn sure, can’t tell Jack nothin’ ‘bout this. Can’t say nothin’ ‘bout his tent foolin’ neither._  
  
Didn’t want to know, too afraid the answer would look like his own, and a truth like that could only toss them straight to the dark, with pits of fire and fists flying and tire irons. Take them straight to someplace he didn’t know if he’d ever have the strength to leave.  
  
_I ain’t_   **never**   _tellin’, n’ I don’t need Jack t’ say a word ‘bout it neither. Hmmmm. Jack not sayin’ a word. Might be nice oncet in a while._  
  
Down below, the smoke waved again, only this time with an impatient “Get your ass back here now!”  
  
“Bout that time, I reckon. Should maybe check for that coyote one more -”  
  
A gust with a nasty bite knocked the hat from Ennis’ head, rolling it across the grass, always keeping it two steps ahead of his reaching arm. “Come back here, goddammit!” A diving catch, Ennis laid out flat, was the only way to trap the darn thing. He slammed it back in place, jamming it low to his ears. “N’ fuckin’ stay there!” By the time he stomped back to the rifle, he was shivering, the wind a howling blast, closing up the last patch of true sky, leaving only the grey of the fast approaching freeze.   
  
“Was fuckin’ right ‘bout t’night,” Ennis declared proudly, his weather predicting skills appreciated only by Cigar Butt’s disinterested shake of the head. “Gonna be cold as hell with no fire.”  
  
Foot in the stirrup, hand on the horn – a little hop to get ready – and Ennis swung up, settling in nicely, horse and rider starting the hour long trek back to camp, hoping to leave this whole mixed up day behind.  
  
_Stupid ass sheep, damn coyotes, Aguirre n’ his sleepin’ up here n’ no breakfast n’ crumbs in my pocket n’…gonna haveta’ get drunker n’ shit t’ forget t’day._  
  
The path back to camp was a brown snake twisting through a line of deep greens, with patches of yellow, red and white winking and blinking summer’s joy. Ennis clopped lazily through Brokeback’s pallet, the gentle sway lulling him peaceful, his mind seeing only one color.  
  
Blue.  
  
_Jack fuckin’ Twist blue._  
  
Surprised the hell out of Cigar Butt when knees squeezed hard, urging on towards a gallop coming up on frantic.   
  
_Forget? Ain’t that much whiskey in the whole state a Wyoming._  
  
  



End file.
